


Bad (at) Romance

by MagellanicClouds



Series: Cheeky Intruders [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Grimmjow sure doesn't know, Ichigo is best sugar daddy, M/M, Mugetsu!Ichigo, they flirt a lot ok, what is dating???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22984636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagellanicClouds/pseuds/MagellanicClouds
Summary: For the first time since Grimmjow had kissed Kurosaki stupid in his kitchenette, a pretty important part of the whole dating thing came to mind.Romance.Fuck.Or: In which Grimmjow finally thinks past getting his erstwhile intruder to stick around permanently and confronts what dating the guy actually looks like.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Cheeky Intruders [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651774
Comments: 28
Kudos: 271





	Bad (at) Romance

**Author's Note:**

> For Adversary, without whom this series would not exist. 
> 
> Big thanks to Kryptodrakon for being my beta. Thank u for laughing at my terrible jokes.
> 
> Let's pretend that Christmas wasn't two months ago, ok?

"I am _not_ going on a Christmas date." 

The words weren't even voluntary; an automatic reaction to opening his door and finding Kurosaki shivering on the landing, nose pink with cold and shedding giant flakes of the half-melted slush currently falling from the sky and trying to pass itself off as snow. 

Kurosaki showing up on his doorstep wasn't unusual—he'd been inviting himself over for weeks already and he'd stopped by nearly every night since Grimmjow's embarrassing five am confession, but it _was_ Christmas—day of warm fuzzy feelings and sappy romance, etcetera, etcetera—and Kurosaki was dressed just a little spiffier than usual. The folded collar of a thick, deep blue sweater peeked out from beneath his favorite black jacket edged in electric blue, and his hair was tied back in a loose braid that draped over his shoulder and glittered with half-melted snow. 

And for the first time since Grimmjow had kissed Kurosaki stupid in his kitchenette, a pretty important part of the whole dating thing came to mind. 

Romance. 

_Fuck_ _._

Kurosaki clicked his teeth with a good-natured roll of his eyes and held up the damp plastic bag that hung in his loose grip for Grimmjow's inspection. "I figured," he huffed, then wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. A teasing grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "But I'm hoping I'll get lucky and you'll say yes to a few hours of takeout and bad Kung Fu movies."

Grimmjow blinked. "Wouldn't have pegged you as the type," he drawled, tension easing out of his shoulders as he tugged the younger man into the relative warmth of his tiny apartment. "But as long as you're not planning on dragging me out into the crowds tonight, I guess I can suffer through your shit taste in movies." 

"Says the one who likes two hundred year old scifi serials." Kurosaki scoffed, herding him back until he was pinned against his own door, bracketed between his arms. 

"Star Trek is a classic!" He grumbled petulantly, but leaned down obligingly he was pulled into an enthusiastic kiss. 

They stayed there for a long moment, sharing breath as they explored each others’ mouths. The wet chill that spread down Grimmjow’s chest as the slush on Kurosaki's jacket melted through his thin tee was a sharp contrast to the warm air between them, but Grimmjow scrambled for purchase on the slick fabric, tugging the other man closer still. He groaned in frustration as the takeout bag dug uncomfortably into his thigh and broke the kiss, distractedly prying it out of Kurosaki's grip as he tilted his head back on the door, panting harshly. 

Kurosaki switched to lavishing attention on his neck without missing a beat and the bag hit the floor with a soft thud, unnoticed under Gimmjow’s choked moan as his hands came up to grip slim hips. 

Kurosaki still kissed him like he couldn't believe it was actually happening. Like it still surprised him that Grimmjow had finally figured things out and said yes.

What a fucking dumbass. 

Really. He should be insulted. 

A dumbass that was really fucking good at kissing though, he admitted to himself while he wrapped one arm more firmly around Kurosaki's waist under his jacket and rolled his hips insistently into the top of his thigh, so maybe he could forgive him for it. 

_Especially_ , he thought hazily, an embarrassing whine passing his lips when Kurosaki nipped at the straining tendons of his neck, _if this moved to a bed sometime in the very near future._

But of course, because Grimmjow had the worst fucking luck, Muff, who had been ignored as he twined around their ankles and chatted loudly, decided that that was the moment he'd had enough of waiting. 

Kurosaki pitched forward with a surprised yelp, pressing Grimmjow tightly to the door as Muff leapt onto his back, using Grimmjow's arm and the slope of the visored's back to claw his way up his coat until he was perched on his shoulder, purring happily as he alternated between licking Grimmjow's jaw with his sandpaper tongue and lapping at the melting snow crowning his head. 

For a moment he could do nothing more than stare into Kurosaki's wide, golden brown eyes in surprised outrage. 

"Fucking trashcat," Grimmjow groaned, petulant but with no real heat. He slid his hands out from under the jacket to bracket Kurosaki's hips and leaned his head back against the door as he breathed deeply. 

Kurosaki chuckled breathlessly, forehead pressed lightly to Grimmjow's neck. "Food's probably getting cold anyway," he rasped. 

Grimmjow shivered as hot breath caressed his skin. "You can use the bathroom to dry off a bit," he offered, squeezing his eyes shut as his self control was tested. His fingers tightened momentarily on the visored's hips. He opened his eyes again to level an arctic glare at the large, fluffy cat perched on his shoulder, chewing on the baby hairs that had escaped his braid. 

Kurosaki sighed and pressed one more kiss to the hollow of his throat, then backed off, a rueful smile on his lips, and Grimmjow reached for Muff, holding him tightly against his chest as he watched the younger man shed his coat and boots and pad over to his studio's tiny bathroom through half-lidded eyes.

When the door slid shut, he held the cat up to eye level, grasping his large, fluffy body under his front legs so he hung stretched out and deceptively docile. “You are such a cock block.” he hissed sourly. 

Muff just licked his face, unconcerned by the glare that would have burnt holes in lesser men. 

Grimmjow glared moodily at the feline menace for a moment longer then dropped him to the floor with an irritated grunt and shut the front door with more force than necessary. Place was cool enough without letting in the winter chill. Fuck Karakura Energy and their fucking absurd rates.

He picked up the bag of takeout, swatting lightly at Muff’s face to fend off his curious nosing, and pried open the handles to peer inside. 

“Where’d you get this?” he asked, as he eyed the containers of hot broth, thinly shaved meat, and a variety of vegetables and add-ons, voice raised so that Kurosaki would hear him through the thin sliding door separating the bathroom from the main space. 

He looped it around his wrist and wandered over to the kitchenette, digging around in the utensil drawer for a few pairs of chopsticks and headed for the couch, making a detour by the bed to tap at his LINE interface. His older-than-dirt holoscreen to flickered to life with a happy little tune, Seireitei Tech’s logo spinning idly as it initialized.

The door slid open, revealing Kurosaki squeezing the last of the water out of his hair with one of Grimmjow's threadbare towels.

"PhởMO? It’s this little hole in the wall place across the street from my apartment scraper." He lifted one shoulder, a sheepish smile on his face. "My go-to when I’m too lazy to cook."

Grimmjow blinked, caught up in the sight of Kurosaki causally tossing the towel back into the bathroom, hitting his small laundry bin unerringly and looking like he belonged there. It was still strange, seeing him there. In his apartment. Already so comfortable with the space. 

He trailed his eyes down his body as he approached, noting just how large the deep blue turtleneck sweater he wore was on him now that his jacket didn’t obscure how loosely it hung on his shoulders. The hem of it gathered around the top of his thighs, making his legs look even longer and thinner than usual in his tight fitting moto jeans. 

It made his teeth ache something awful. 

"Isn't this a little big?" He rasped, depositing his load on his battered coffee table and tugging at the hem as the visored stopped by his side. 

"It’s cozy." he retorted. He finished twining his hair back into its loose braid and reached down to catch Grimmjow's wandering fingers. "You keep this place pretty cool. Thought you'd like it warmer."

"Well, _someone_ smashed up my windows and I had to keep costs low somehow." 

Kurosaki glanced at a small pile of crypto-disks on the counter and then raised his eyebrows at him meaningfully. 

“Like hell I'm spending your money.” 

Somehow, Kurosaki’s eyebrows managed to go even higher, disappearing beneath his messy bangs. He swept his hand pointedly at the assortment of cat accessories now scattered around his apartment. Under the kitchen table, Muff was sprawled out on his back drooling all over himself as he lazily kneaded the air and stared into space with an absent gaze. A Santa shaped catnip toy he’d bought that morning for the fluffy menace lay abandoned nearby.

“That’s not the same.” he insisted, throwing himself down on the couch and scowling petulantly at a section of wall just to the left of Kurosaki's face. 

Kurosaki huffed out a laugh, following him down onto the couch, twisting his body around so he was facing Grimmjow. He propped his elbow on the back of the couch and rested his chin in his hand, a teasing smirk turning up the corners of his lips. “How so?”

Grimmjow scowled harder, giving him the stink eye out of the corner of his eyes. “I thought you were dead or something. I was paying for your replacement.” 

Kurosaki's smirk slipped as something like guilt flashed in his eyes. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He sighed, dropping the conversation in favor of pulling containers out of the takeout bag and spreading them over the table. 

Grimmjow sunk further into the lumpy couch cushions and cursed to himself as the moment hung awkwardly, unsure of how to save it. He unwound from his defensive knot when Kurosaki pushed a container of hot broth in front of him and they spent the next several minutes adding meat and vegetables, the stilted silence broken only by the light buzzing of the haptic feedback hardware in the visored’s PAD. 

He slurped sullenly at his noodles and watched the younger man out of the corner of his eye, a tight knot of guilt and frustration building in his chest at the sight of the small frown drawing down the corners of his mouth and the scrunched skin between his eyebrows highlighted in the blue light of the holoscreen. 

This was not what he'd wanted. 

Fuck, but did the guy have a guilt complex though. 

Kurosaki’s PAD beeped and his shitty holoscreen chirped in kind. A few more taps and the title sequence of whatever movie he’d chosen was blooming to life across it as the apartment’s overhead lights dimmed automatically and the audio blared through the integrated speakers, tinny and blurred. 

Grimmjow paid it no mind, eyes still on Kurosaki as he tucked his feet onto the couch and curled his hands around his bowl. He could see the flickering light from the dying corner of his display reflected in the visored’s eyes, half-shadowed by his stupidly long bangs. His fingers twitched.

Fuck’s sake. He was not going to fuck things up now—not when weeks of his own crabby lack of awareness hadn’t managed it—over something so small and asinine. He set down his container with an exasperated snort, grit his teeth, and slung his arm around Kurosaki’s shoulders before he could lose his nerve, pulling him roughly against his side. 

Kurosaki let out a startled yelp as he landed hard against the mechanic’s side, and they both tensed in panic as his own bowl of scalding hot phở nearly upended over the both of them, each swiftly reaching to steady it when the broth sloshed precariously against the rim. 

After a tense second in which they both stared at the bowl in fright, Grimmjow let out a slow breath and collapsed back into the couch, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned his face towards the ceiling. “Fuck, that was close,” he groaned.

Kurosaki just chuckled and patted his knee consolingly, settling more comfortably against his side, and Grimmjow narrowly resisted the urge to push him off the couch, hot broth be damned.

Nobody patted him affectionately like that.

And yet, Kurosaki remained snuggled firmly against his side. That was the point of all this right?

An awkward moment passed while Grimmjow sucked on his teeth and stared blankly at the ceiling. _Just apologize, dipshit._

He tightened his hold around the visored, squeezing his bicep carefully. "Wasn't trying to be an asshole."

Kurosaki planted a cheek on his shoulder. "I know. I’m still sorry."

“If you don’t stop apologizing, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Hmm. I’d like to see you try.” He squawked when Grimmjow gave his braid a firm tug in retaliation.

The affronted glare Grimmjow shot at the top of Kurosaki’s head went entirely unnoticed, so he gave the braid another tug before he found himself following the long plait all the way to the end. He ran his thumb curiously back and forth through the loose hairs below the tie as he finally turned his attention to the screen. It was just as soft as he’d imagined. 

Now that he was paying attention though, there was something about the film that was- oh that little _shit_. 

“Kung Fu Hustle?” he questioned accusingly as one of the mobsters on screen shot axe-shaped fireworks into the air. 

Kurosaki cut a quick glance up at him out of the corner of his eye. “I told you we were watching bad Kung Fu movies.” he grumbled, cheeks pinking. He grabbed a fresh roll off the coffee table and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing furiously. 

"Yeah, but _Kung Fu Hustle?_ What were you saying about 200 year old media? There are seasons of Star Trek younger than this!"

The pink on Kurosaki’s bulging, chipmunk cheeks darkened to a bright red. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Grimmjow leveled him with a dry look. “I’m _sure._ ” 

“Just watch the movie, asshole,” he groaned, burying his face in his chest.

The mechanic rolled his eyes, but grabbed his container off the table and settled down, patting his shoulder in mimicry of the younger man’s earlier actions. 

Conversation lapsed as they got absorbed in the plot, petering out to just the mechanic’s sarcastic commentary at the film’s wackiest moments, and his pained grunts as the younger man’s pointy elbow inevitably drove into his stomach in reply. 

Halfway through, Muff finally roused himself out of his catnip induced stupor and joined them on the couch, walking painfully across their laps several times before settling down against Kurosaki’s thigh. Grimmjow glared at him indignantly. Traitor. 

Couldn't really blame him, though. Kurosaki was comfortable to lean on. 

It was all so mundane, yet more than a little surreal. They were just watching an old vid. Just sharing a meal. Sitting comfortably close with another human being. But for Grimmjow, who had gone from fighting for scraps in Hueco Mundo, to the cutthroat environment of the Espada, and then into years of isolation living under the radar, it was so novel as to be almost completely unheard of. He glanced down at Kurosaki as he broke into stifled laughter at the antics on screen, watching the way the flickering blue light threw his features into stark contrast in the darkened room, and tightened his hold. A small smile of his own curled at the corner of his mouth as he turned back the movie. 

Maybe...maybe this was something he could get used to though. 

"So...no Christmas dates?" Kurosaki teased when the credits rolled. Their takeout containers lay abandoned and Kurosaki had taken to sliding warm fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. 

Their positions had reversed at some point—Grimmjow couldn’t say how or when—and now he was slumped bonelessly into the visored’s side, face mashed into soft blue yarn while Kurosaki quickly discovered and exploited one of his greatest weaknesses. 

He should murder him for this. 

"We've been dating for six days." He grumbled instead.

"And?"

He cracked an eye open to glare up at him "And?? Kurosaki, I swear to God I will back out of this if you are suggesting we do disgustingly sweet couples bullshit."

Kurosaki's lips twitched upward as he struggled to maintain a straight face before he cracked with a snort and dissolved into laughter, settling deeper into the lumpy couch cushions. Grimmjow yelped as the sudden lack of support under his cheek made him slip and he found himself landing face first in Kurosaki's lap, nose pressed into the folds of his sweater. He could feel the vibrations tightening Kurosaki's abs though the thick material as the younger man started laughing harder and punched him in the thigh. 

Kurosaki's laugh cut off on a yelp. _Served him right_ , he thought as he ground the metal knuckles deeper, the little asshole. 

"Alright, alright!" The younger man gasped, choking back more laughter, "I'm sorry!” He slid his fingers back into Grimmjow's hair. "And no romantic dates, I promise." 

Blunt fingernails resumed scraping gently at Grimmjow's scalp and he went boneless almost immediately. _Definitely murdering him for this,_ he thought sullenly, the tips of his tungsten fingers heating slightly as he dug them into the meat of the other’s thigh. 

Another gentle scratch of his scalp and the energy dissipated as quickly as it came. He heaved himself out of Kurosaki's lap, dislodging those calming fingers, grumbling the whole way only to come face to face with Muff. The cat had uncurled himself slightly from the tight ball he'd made against Kurosaki's side and was glaring at him disapprovingly for the disturbance. He flipped the fuzzball the bird and finished righting himself, slouching back into the couch cushions beside Kurosaki with a petulant huff. 

He was _not_ going to be judged by his own cat in his own apartment. 

Kurosaki shook his head and chuckled at his antics then turned his attention to his PAD. "Do you want to stop here, or are you up for more bad kung fu?" 

Grimmjow cocked his head and tapped metal fingers on the meat of his crossed forearm consideringly. "Could do with another." He grunted, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. It would keep the visored around for a few hours longer at the very least, and ending things now almost felt something like a sour note.

But Kurosaki shot him a blinding smile as he tapped at the device, and it beeped cheerily as another vid was added to the queue. He stood up, stretching his arms high above his head with a satisfied sigh. "I'm making hot chocolate. You want any?"

Grimmjow curled his lip up in disgust, and directed his eyes away from the straining tendons in Kurosaki's neck, back to the credits still slowly rolling across the holoscreen. "That sweet shit? I'll pass." He hissed testily when the younger man cuffed back of his head in retaliation. 

Kurosaki responded with a conciliatory hum and made his way to the kitchenette, leaving him to stare blankly at the rolling credits while he tried to untangle whatever it was about that otherwise benign bit of flirt-fighting that had him so edgy.

He sucked on his teeth as he ran back though their conversation and found himself stumbling on _that word._ One that had been had been quietly lurking over them the entire time.

_Romance._ Grimmjow's face twisted around a grimace. The word brought up memories of the young couples that often frequented Kittens: clingy and saccharine in a way that made his teeth ache just thinking of it. Hearts and flowers and overt public affection were things that were so foreign as to be repulsive. If that was romance, then he was sure he could happily live his whole life without it.

His gaze shifted to where Kurosaki was filling his old coffee maker with water and setting it to brew without grounds. Did he want romance? He'd let the subject slide easily enough when Grimmjow had objected, but that didn't mean he wasn't looking for it. As much as he would hate doing sappy shit, the thought that Kurosaki might want something out of their...relationship that he couldn't give was equally upsetting. 

What _did_ he want out of this anyway? As soon as he asked himself he realized he didn't have a fucking clue. In all the spiraling thoughts after he'd figured shit out, he'd never actually got past making sure Kurosaki stuck around for good. 

"Seriously though, I don't know shit about being romantic. If that's what you're looking for, then you're shit out of luck." The words tasted like acid, but better to get it out now than set both of them up for disappointment. 

He watched carefully as Kurosaki opened his overhead cupboard and lit up at the small can of Holiday Edition MegaMallow Hot Chocolate he'd picked up during his rounds that morning, grumbling in embarrassment at the fond look the younger man shot him over his shoulder.

"Seems like you're doing pretty well to me."

He looked down, studiously ignoring the warm glow those words sent diffusing through his chest by kicking his toes against the underside of the coffee table while the quiet sounds of Kurosaki moving about washed over him. 

"Grimmjow."

He reluctantly looked back towards the kitchenette, eyes immediately locking with Kurosaki's. The visored leaned against the counter, steaming mug of hot chocolate cupped between his hands and that same fond look still in his eyes.

"I think I had a pretty good idea of what I'd be getting into when I started flirting with you. You were a prickly asshole then, and I'm not expecting that to change now."

Grimmjow raised a dubious eyebrow and the younger man sighed. He made his way back over to the couch, set his drink down on the table and pressed one knee into the cushion at the mechanic’s side. Before Grimmjow could blink, he had swung his other leg up and over so that he settled in his lap. 

Kurosaki flipped his braid over his shoulder, braced both hands on the back of the couch, and leaned in close until he filled the mechanic's vision. "I'm not looking for whatever syrupy sweet version of romance you have in mind. Just let me give you nice things and recite a few sonnets at you every once in a while, ok?"

Grimmjow grimaced, but brought his hands up to Kurosaki's waist and slowly slid them up his torso, the oversized sweater bunching up under his hands. _"Sonnets."_

Kurosaki chuckled. “You're not objecting to the giving you things part.”

“You've already proven I can't stop you.” 

"Mmm, true."

A smug smile was beginning to curl at the corner of his lips and Grimmjow decided that his best course of action was to kiss the stupid thing off his face before it could get any bigger. 

Above them, the credits music coming from his shitty speakers shifted to the opening scene of their next film, but Grimmjow was too caught up in the way Kurosaki shoved him deeper into the couch cushions and stuck his tongue down his throat to care. He moaned around the intrusion and pulled him closer, rubbing circles into this back, lower and lower until his hands slipped underneath the folds of Kurosaki's sweater and he could press his palms against warm skin. He paused when Ichigo flinched slightly, inhaling a sharp gasp against his lips. 

"No good?" He asked, pulling back just enough to look Kurosaki in the eyes. His retreating hands were quickly caught and gently guided back until they laid flat against the bare skin of his stomach. 

"Those metal fingers are just a little cold," Kurosaki assured him with a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. Grimmjow could feel his teasing smile as he dragged his lips along his cheek and up to his ear to nip sharply at the lobe. "Nothing we can't fix."

\-----

Grimmjow woke slowly to the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, eggs, and the weak, grey light of a late winter morning filtering through his tiny window. He groaned, rolling over on his stomach, and buried his face into his pillow, sleep threatening to pull him back into it’s warm, comfortable embrace. His body felt heavy and satisfyingly sore in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and the desire to luxuriate it in it for a little while was tempting.

But the promise of hot, fresh jet fuel proved too strong to ignore and he eventually found the will to throw off the covers and brave the chill of the apartment. He stretched himself taut as he let out a jaw cracking yawn, then planted his hands in the mattress and arched his spine, feeling a dull pain lance through the muscles in his lower back in protest . 

The bed dipped beside him, and he collapsed back to the mattress with a moan as a hand started kneading the tight muscles soothingly then wandered down to squeeze his ass. 

“Keep doing that and we might just have to go for round two,” Kurosaki murmured. The hand trailed up his spine and into his hair, tugging insistently. 

Grimmjow turned his face toward him obligingly and was rewarded with a languid kiss. “I don’t see a downside to that.” he growled, nipping at the other’s bottom lip as he retreated. 

Kurosaki huffed in amusement and gave his hair one last tug before trailing his hand down his back to press into the mattress by his hip. He offered him the mug of coffee in his other hand, the smile curling at the corner of his lips equal parts lustful and apologetic. “I’d love to, _really_ , but it’s 9 am on a Thursday and we’ve both got work that needs doing.”

Grimmjow blinked, finally taking in the sight of Kurosaki already clean and dressed, bundled back in his outerwear and ready to leave. He heaved himself up to lean against the wall at the head of his bed and took the offered mug of coffee. 

“Heading out already?” he asked, sipping carefully at the hot beverage.

That...sucked more than he wanted to admit.

Kurosaki must have seen the disappointment he tried to hide behind the ceramic because he was quick to dive into his personal space, barely avoiding spilling the hot drink between them as he pulled Grimmjow into another kiss. 

“Trust me,” he rasped as he pulled away. His eyes trailed hungrily down Grimmjow’s disheveled and breathless form. “I’d rather stay, but I need to be at work in an hour and my boss is a hard ass.”

Grimmjow relaxed into the wall at the other’s earnest reassurance and smirked into his coffee. “Visoreds have day jobs?” 

Kurosaki rolled his eyes. “Domestic terrorism doesn’t exactly pay the bills.” he grumbled, digging his hands through the pockets of his jacket. “But that reminds me.” He pulled out a folded slip of paper and shoved it under his nose. 

Grimmjow grabbed the offering and swatted his hand away, shooting the younger man a disgruntled glare as he flipped it open and found a LINE address written down in a messy scrawl.

“It’s not my personal line,” Kurosaki explained, one shoulder lifting in an uncomfortable shrug. “Sakanade is pretty pissed at me and now that he’s paying attention to my movements, he’s definitely noticed that I’m traveling outside of my routine. He’ll have some of the others tracking me soon enough, if they haven’t started already. I wanted to make sure we could still talk. Especially if it starts getting difficult for me to come around.”

Ah yes, Kurosaki’s merry band of assholes. Three years out of That Bastard’s service and he still remembered how persistent Piano Teeth could be with a lead. They were going to be a problem. 

“Clever,” he agreed, “But a burn PAD isn’t going to fool them forever.” 

“But it will do for now.” Kurosaki swiftly planted one last peck on his cheek, scratched Muff under his chin, and then got up and headed for the door. “Now get your ass out of bed. I made you breakfast and those fake eggs aren’t going to stay tasty if they get cold.”

And then he was gone. 

Grimmjow sighed, twirling the scrap of paper between his fingers as he surveyed his empty apartment, which was somehow already feeling colder and quieter without Kurosaki there. He glanced down at Muff. The big orange cat was sprawled out, belly up on his recently vacated pillow. 

“I’m never going to forgive that little shit for getting under my skin so quickly,” he grumbled as he scratched the cat’s fluffy belly. He was rewarded with pointy teeth trying to gnaw their way through tungsten alloy. “You better not leave any dents.”

He let the little (big) terror go at it for a couple moments, then smushed his palm into the top of his furry little head and heaved himself off the bed, grimacing at the feeling of dried come cracking on his skin. He tossed the little slip of paper next to his PAD on the coffee table—now devoid of the takeout containers; had he _cleaned_ too??—and made his way to the bathroom.

That mung bean shit might taste terrible cold, but there was no way he wasn’t cleaning up a little first. 

\------

Grimmjow made it down to the garage and got to work around 40 minutes later, nursing the last mug of coffee from the half-pot Kurosaki had left on the warmer for him. A quick peek out the shop door told him that it was still barely above freezing outside, the wet slush from the night before collecting into half-frozen puddles. He flipped on the street signs and left the rolling door down. The garage was cold enough inside already without letting the chill in on purpose. 

He started up the ancient space heater he had dragged out to his workstation a few days previously when the temperature had first taken a nosedive, giving it a few solid taps with the toe of his boot when the fan stalled, and settled down to work. 

Fortunately, days like these were slow for business, so chances were the unintentional late start hadn't lost him any customers—just put him behind schedule on the projects that needed doing before closing. 

Grimmjow easily lost himself in the flow diagnostics, repairs, and general maintenance while Muff wound himself around his feet, only occasionally interrupted by one of the few customers scheduled for pickup. Few of them stopped to chat, all too eager to get home and out of the cold and Grimmjow himself threw in the towel early, shutting down the lights and flipping the sign to ‘CLOSED’ as soon as the last of them disappeared down the street. His space heater was fighting a losing battle against the setting sun and his shoulder got achier the more the temperature dropped. 

He stomped back up to the apartment with Muff hot on his heels, sighing in relief when the door finally shut behind him, trapping in the relative warmth contained in the small space. A scalding hot shower to defrost himself and soothe the lingering soreness from the morning was in the very near future, but not quite yet.

He collapsed bonelessly on the couch, fingers already pressing into inflamed scar tissue when his head landed on something soft and plush instead of the barely-padded armrest he’d expected. Curious, reached behind him and pulled the item out from under his head for inspection, blinking at a bundle of kitted, navy yarn. He rubbed the layers of it together between his fingers. 

Huh. He hadn't noticed that Kurosaki wasn’t wearing it this morning. 

After a second’s hesitation, Grimmjow jackknifed up and stuffed his arms down the sleeves, yanking the neck hole over his head. They were dating now, right? It wasn’t like Kurosaki would get mad at him for wearing his clothes, he reasoned as he pulled the thick fabric down his torso. Probably would be over the moon about it, the little shit. And if he did get mad it was his fault for leaving it here in the first place. Besides, it would probably fit him better anyway, it had been almost comically big on Kurosaki’s leaner frame.

...In fact, it fit a little _too_ perfectly. 

Grimmjow rolled his eyes and flopped back down on the couch, burrowing into the sagging cushions and swatting half-heartedly at Muff’s nose when the fluffy demon tried to sink his claws into the soft knit. 

“Sneaky bastard.” 

He grabbed his PAD off the coffee table, ready to send the guy some sort of token protest over the gift even though he had every intention of keeping it—his apartment was cold and the sweater was every bit as cozy as Kurosaki had claimed, sue him—but when the screen blinked to life he was confronted with new alert from Karakura Energy’s Customer Portal splashed across it. 

**_Payment Successful!_ **

_A credit of_ _n¥_ _35000 has been charged to your account._

Grimmjow narrowly avoided dropping the device on his face. 

How the _actual fuck._

He reached for the coffee table again, slapping his palm flat to the surface several times before paper crinkled under his hand. He snatched it up and punched in the address scrawled on it into his messaging app with more force than was strictly necessary. 

_[MSG:UNLISTED 17:22]_

_How the fuck did you get my utilities account number???_

_[MSG:gdc52.38.qv263 17:23]_

_I have my ways ;)_

_Now turn up your heat dumbass_

**Author's Note:**

> My goal in life is to give Ichigo as much passive Top energy as I possibly can.


End file.
